


If I had a home anywhere (it’s in your heartbeat)

by comedy-witch (calamaris)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut, post-season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calamaris/pseuds/comedy-witch
Summary: And it makes a lot of sense now – Steve’s silence earlier in the night. How careful he was with you, how fragile of a moment it’d been. Steve spent a long time thinking that the two of you – and all your friends – were going to die.But you didn’t. And that changed everything.
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Reader
Kudos: 107





	If I had a home anywhere (it’s in your heartbeat)

**Author's Note:**

> **request:** can u write something where reader and Steve spend the night together after the battle of starcourt & they share a bed, and then they realize they love each other and start going at it?? smut??? perhaps?? thanks!

Starcourt mall has always been a neon spectacle. But the night of July 4th it becomes a red and blue phenomenon. Emergency vehicle lighting bounces off the tops of police cruisers, catching the reflection of shattered glass littered around the parking lot.

You think it’s funny that the Fun Fair had to happen at all, when the carnival was right here the whole time.

After an hour of waiting, the medic checks on your injuries. You’re one of the lucky ones – suffering only some bruising and soreness, a few scrapes and cuts for good measure. It’s nothing compared to Steve. One of the nurses wanted to give him a local anesthesia for the pain but he nearly lost his mind at the mere suggestion of a needle. He’s still shaky when he walks over to you and Robin where you sit on the parking curb.

“C’mon, I’ll drive us all home.”

You stand up first and offer your hand to Robin, “I’ll drive,” you say, pulling Robin up with a quick grunt.

“No, I’ve got it—”

“Steve, your eye is still swollen, you shouldn’t be driving.”

Steve opens his mouth to protest again but you speak first, “I _promise_ I won’t break your car, okay?” you take a step closer and take hold of the keys still in his hand.

“That’s—”

“Trust me.” you say instead. Steve can’t argue that, you can see it written all over his face. His eyes go a bit softer, and his grip relents, releasing the keys into your waiting hand. When you all make it to the car, Steve slides into the backseat, allowing Robin to take passenger.

You’re all uncharacteristically silent for the ride home. Robin picks at her fingernails, still caked with dirt and blood. You turn into her driveway and park the car, wiping your face before glancing over.

Robin looks over at you with a smile and you unclick your seatbelt, leaning over as she pulls you into a hug. It’s silent for a long moment, and you have trouble swallowing down the emotion that rises up within you. When she pulls away, she gives you a tired but purposeful smile.

“Be careful, okay? Drive slow.”

“Yeah.” you smile back and she nods before getting out of her seat. Steve gets out of the backseat at the same time Robin climbs out of the car, and the two meet for a hug too. It’s long, and a much-needed comfort to both of them. Someone sniffs loudly, and you hear Robin chuckle, “We’re okay, dingus.”

“Yeah.” Steve replies, voice quiet and muffled.

She pulls away a bit, “Get some sleep.”

Steve clears his throat, “Yeah, you too.”

She leans over and gives him another hug for good measure, ushering him into the passenger seat before giving you a teary-eyed smile. She stands up and you see her lift her hand to wipe at her eyes before she walks to the front door of her parent’s house, giving you a quick wave before slipping inside.

You’re about to move the gear shift into reverse when Steve puts his hand on top of yours.

You turn your head to get a better look at him in the dimly lit car. “Steve?”

“I…” he trails off, you watch his mouth move but no words come out. His cheeks are wet, complexion still red and bruised from the interrogation. Then, he looks up at you, “I don’t want you t-to go home.”

You turn your hand, palm face up, and lace your fingers with his, “Then I won’t.”

“You can say no, I just—”

“I know.” you murmur, and Steve lets out a shaky sigh, before nodding and extricating his hand from yours so you can drive.

It’s a bit of a longer journey to Steve’s place, living on the outskirts of town. He has the passenger window rolled down, head tilted toward the breeze that comes through. Steve’s hair is mussed, hairline dried with sweat, Farrah Fawcett’s magic long gone.

When you get to Steve’s, he leans on the door while unlocking it, bone tired. You push him to the side, letting him lean on you instead as you fumble with the keys.

You follow him to his bedroom and you set down your work pack with a spare set of clothes while he gets his own out of the dresser.

Steve reaches behind his bedroom door to grab a towel.

“Can you manage on your own?” you ask and he simply nods, stepping out of the room and down the hall.

While Steve is gone, you change into your sweatpants and shirt, balling up your uniform into your bag. You go down to the kitchen and root around for a dish towel. Then, you crack the ice tray on the counter before wrapping some of the cubes up. When you return upstairs, Steve’s in his room, hair damp and soaking into the collar of his shirt.

“Here,” you offer, gesturing to the corner of his bed. Steve blinks, glancing at the spot.

“You tired?” he asks and you shake your head.

“I’ll dry your hair,” you say. Steve gives you a gentle smile.

He hands you a dry towel and sits on the edge of the bed. You hand him the ice towel and he presses it to his injured face. The shower helped clean the dried blood off, and he looks much better than you initially thought he would. But Steve is clearly conflicted, and it worries you.

You stand between his knees with the dry towel in hand, carefully brushing his hair away from his face before squeezing the last remnants of water out of the ends.

Steve’s free hand holds just above the back of your knees, thumb drawing circles on your outer thigh. You try to concentrate on your task, but his hand is warm and distracting. After a few minutes, he gestures for you to give him the towel and you acquiesce. He bundles up both and chucks them into the corner of his room, but doesn’t move from his position on the bed.

“Steve…are you okay?” you ask.

While there’s an instinct to courteously step back and give him room, Steve moves faster than that. Your breathing comes out a little faster, a little more nervous, when Steve leans in and brushes his lips against yours. It’s a timid kiss, far different than what you expect from him.

Steve Harrington has been a lot of things. Boisterous and goofy, sarcastic and brave. But then again, there were always those moments you caught him watching quietly, the wheels spinning in his mind even when no one else was looking. You’ve known him for long enough that it shouldn’t surprise you at all.

He kisses you like he’s asking a question – like he’s scared of the answer. Steve pulls back slowly, his lips tacky enough to catch yours a bit longer, to linger on hot breath. You shudder, overcome at the sudden intimacy, how languid he moves mere inches from your skin. You extricate your wrists from his gentle hold, and when Steve goes to pull away in rejection, you lean up faster, pecking his mouth in urgency. To tell him to wait, and to listen.

“Steve,” you feel your face burn hot from how quiet it is, from how profoundly delicate this moment is for him. “C’mere,” you murmur, and Steve’s breath comes out of him in a rush, bending down the small distance it takes to kiss you again. His hands wrap around you, warmth at the small of your back. It’s a bit less calculated this time, a bit more desperate. His tongue is wet and warm, something you previously wondered about when it would dart out to wet his lips during a shift. How he’d finish a snack on break and lick his fingers. Your heartbeat thumps loudly in your ears, fingers finding purchase on the sleeves of Steve’s sweatshirt.

He meets your lips, a little more courageous, a little bolder. He nips playfully and you squeak, both of you giving pause. You can feel Steve’s mouth curve into a smile against your own and you pull back enough to scrunch your nose at him.

“ _Hey_.” you warn, pulling a bit on his sleeve.

“Hey yourself.” his voice is low but he’s still smiling, and you can’t fight the temptation to kiss him again. You’re burning hotter and hotter every time you come back for more. Every brush of your lips is a little more open, a little more lustful and a lot less careful.

You give up on driving him insane because you’re the only one losing patience. You let go of his sleeves, hands wandering down the front of his shirt. Steve stills for only a moment, when your palm rests just below his naval, and then your fingers push up the hem of his shirt instead. He shudders out a breath, clearly having anticipated something else entirely.

“Am I going too slow for you, sweetheart?” you murmur, hands trailing up and up under his shirt and exposing his stomach. And Steve goes hot in the face, down to his neck.

“J-just happy to be here.” he tries to make it sound like a joke but it comes out more nervous than anything. You kiss him again and reach for the hem of his shirt again, this time in earnest, pulling on it in silent request.

You want to be careful because he’s still injured, and so you wait for him to move first. He lets you hold his sleeves while he tugs his arms out, gently and slowly. It’s a bit clumsy, but when you both manage to get it over his head, Steve kisses all over your face in thanks, making you laugh.

Steve’s fingers brush your hair back behind your ear, tilting your head to the side, exposing your skin to the warmth of his mouth. His tongue, hot and wet, trails down your neck, and his hands, having previously been freed again, go to your ass. You’d noticed it before, hadn’t really thought about it until now, but Steve has big hands. And when his palms cup your ass, his fingers nearly meet at the apex of your thighs and you groan.

Worried it’s from doing something wrong, Steve goes to pull his hands back but you grip his wrists.

“ _Fuck,_ Steve—” you encourage him, looking up to kiss him again. Steve’s eyes are dark, face still a bit redder than you’re used to. You gasp when he adjusts his hands, and Steve can feel how warm you are, even like this. He thinks he might cream his pants.

You start tugging off your shirt all at once, and Steve is nearly too turned on to help. But he brings his hands away long enough to help tug your shirt over your head, despite the protest in his arms.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move that fa— _ah_ , hah, _fuck,”_ Steve stops in his tracks, because you’ve palmed him through his pants already and ok—ok—ok—he was _not_ expecting that. Nutting right now would be the worst thing to ever happen to him.

He grabs your face in his hands and gives you a bruising kiss before moving his hands to concentrate on taking your pants off. You’re both breathing hard, ridiculously turned on for having been taking it so slow only moments prior.

You’re almost tangled in the legs of your pants but Steve turns you around so your back is to the bed, urging you to get on the bed and lie down. He lifts your calf and pulls at the cuff of the sweatpants. Steve yanks his own pants down in one swift motion, completely forgetting about his own injury, and almost collapses in a heap.

“Oh my god!” you sit up and Steve puts up a hand, the other gripping the edge of the bed for support.

“Do – _not_ get off that bed,” he wheezes.

You almost want to laugh, your concern outweighing how ridiculous of a request it is. “ _Steve…”_

“I’m going down on you,” he takes a deep breath, “if it’s the last thing I do.”

You can’t contain your laughter, your cheeks hot in embarrassment from how blunt it comes out.

You lean up from the pillows, and fold your hand over Steve’s where it rests on the edge of the bed. He glances up and groans. “Don’t give me that look.”

You tilt your head to the side, bemused, “And what ‘look’ would that be?” you ask, even as he sits on the edge of the bed to catch his breath.

He pushes his hair from his face, “The ‘we have time later’ look.”

You let go of his hand just long enough to pull yourself closer to him on the bed and kiss his shoulder, twining your fingers with his again, “We do.”

Steve pulls your clasped hands up toward his lips, lashes downcast as he presses a kiss to your knuckles. “We almost didn’t.”

And it makes a lot of sense now – Steve’s silence earlier in the night. How careful he was with you, how fragile of a moment it’d been. Steve spent a long time thinking that the two of you – and all your friends – were going to die.

But you didn’t. And that changed everything.

“Steve,” you call to get his attention and he looks at you, the anxiety still behind his eyes. You reach out and brush your fingers through his sideburns, you tuck the loose strands behind his ear. You move a bit closer, encouraging him to lean into you. And you kiss him softly, relieving the tension in his shoulders. Steve closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against yours.

“I love you.” he says, soft like a secret. It wasn’t just a romantic admission, it was everything that came before, too. You love each other beyond that – a bond grown from genuine friendship into something incredibly vulnerable. You’d scarcely believed such a thing to exist before now.

“I love you too.” you murmur. He kisses you again, and you pull his hand toward you, back toward the head of the bed.

Before you lie back down, Steve leans in and reaches behind you for the clasp of your bra, a look of panic when he can’t find it, and then glances down at your chest in utter confusion. You laugh a little, reaching around and bringing his hand back to the front, clasp nestled between the swell of your breasts.

“Oh—shit,” Steve blinks, surprised and suddenly incredibly aroused. You see his erection twitch under his boxer briefs, eyes flying back up to his face, but Steve is staring directly at your breasts.

He tentatively reaches out and goes to unhook the clasp of your bra, but is distracted by how much your chest is heaving.

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand simply resting above your heart instead. You touch his hand, nodding vigorously.

“A little nervous.” you admit, and he smiles, kissing your cheek.

“Touch me while I do it.”

You blink, confused. “What—?”

“Put your hand on my crotch while I unhook your bra, and you’ll know exactly what you do to me.”

You smile, a little wider, your cheeks going pink, “You better not cream your pants.”

Steve’s face goes beet red, “I’m trying to _help,”_

“Alright…” you hesitate, hand going down slower than molasses to touch his crotch.

“ _Jesus,_ okay,” he laughs, “you can just – put it on me, I’m not gonna explode.”

You laugh too, and when he grabs your wrist and rests your palm on his dick, you genuinely can’t decide if you’re more entertained or turned on. Steve looks back up at you when your hand is settled and he lets out a small moan and – yeah. Turned on. Definitely.

Steve reaches out his hands, finger dipping under the clasp of your bra, and then presses the other side with his free thumb. It unhooks, and Steve wasn’t kidding about the reaction because it’s immediate. Steve goes hot and rigid under your hand, a feat you thought impossible only a minute ago. You can feel his cock twitch and your curiosity gets the better of you, hand cupping the length of him without thinking. Steve chokes out a moan, caught between staring at the softness of your breasts, how pert your nipples are already, and the firm touch you have on his cock.

“Not gonna explode, huh?” you ask, voice tight with arousal, and Steve can barely glare at you over how turned on he is. He settles for scrunching his nose, and when you squeeze a little more, his hips come up and he thrusts blindly. “ _Christ,_ okay, lie down,” he says, finally managing to get a hold of himself and take your hand off him. You want to try for a snippy remark, but you’re blinded by how eager you are for him to touch you. Steve grabs one of the pillows you aren’t using and props your hips up with it, already spreading your legs apart, running a thumb down the gusset of your underwear.

You let out a long breath, and then whine when all Steve does is smile down at you.

“ _Steve,”_

“Yeah babe?”

You want to kick him in the head. Instead, you impatiently pull your underwear down and Steve laughs kind of nervously, like he wasn’t expecting you to just go for it so fast.

He can’t even bring himself to tease you, just helps guide your underwear down and off your legs before tossing them in some unknown corner. Steve is immediately kissing your inner thighs, working his way up and his cock strains against his boxers. He’s so hard and you’re –

“Fuck—” he says, because you’re glistening and you may or not be panting, rolling your thumbs over your own nipples. And it may or may not be the hottest fucking thing Steve has ever seen. He has to reel in his own arousal so fast he nearly sees stars. He kisses down at the apex of your thighs, and then he presses his tongue between your folds, nose nudging against your pubic bone.

You choke on a moan, hand coming down to grip his hair and when you tug he has to thrust his hips blindly into the mattress, his hands coming up to grip the outside of your thighs. He leans back only a moment to suck a punishing kiss on your inner thigh and you cry out, whining when he soothes the spot with his tongue.

“You— _asshole,_ ” you laugh, breathless, and you can feel his smile against your skin when he goes down on you again. Steve is good with his mouth, he’s never been anything _but_ good with it. But you pat one of his hands that grips your thigh and he leans up a bit, in question. You guide his hand wordlessly, parting your own folds and rubbing slow circles around your clit. Steve understands immediately, pushing your hand away to take over with his own and you sigh.

“ _Yes,_ Steve, just like that,” you encourage him, only punctuated by soft moans. He presses the flat of his tongue against your clit, fingers sliding down your folds and near your entrance, encircling it once before moving away. Every time he nearly slides a finger in, he changes direction, driving you further and further to madness. Steve lifts his head up and uses two fingers to border either side of your clit, massaging up and down, and finds he has to use his other hand to settle your hips when they come up off the pillow. He tries to hide his smile by pressing kisses to your thigh but you look at him like you _know,_ because of course you know.

“You want my fingers, sweetheart?” he murmurs.

“Yes!” you don’t even think before you answer, reaching down with both hands, scrabbling for any part of Steve you can reach. He acquiesces, one hand reaching up and cupping your breast, the other following his mouth down to your heat. He seals his mouth over your clit again and then slides a finger in, and back out.

Your breathing is coming out in short stutters, and Steve keeps at it. Partly because he thinks you look beautiful nearly incoherent with arousal. But the bigger part, he thinks, is because he could never physically extricate himself from this moment, no matter how hard he tries.

“Oh, oh!” you cry out, a sharp high spark that arcs your hips. You nearly clock Steve in the nose with your pubic bone but he quickly removes his hand from your breast to hold you down, rubbing the same circles you showed him earlier onto your clit and you’re practically sobbing, grip on his wrist tight and unrelenting. Your knees come up and trap his hand between your legs, squeezing once, twice –

“Holy _fuck_ that’s hot,” Steve says, voice coming out raspy from not speaking for so long. You’re biting your lip, hair stuck to your face with sweat. He moves his fingers while they’re trapped between your legs and you shudder, finally releasing him.

You’re a sweating, panting mess when you finally look up at him. “Did I—did I hurt you?” you ask, swallowing once.

Steve smiles, “No way.”

You laugh, dreamily. “That was…really nice.”

“Good.”

You glance down at him, “C’mere.” you say, and he goes without protest, wrapping himself around you. You kiss him, open and hungry, and sloppy in a way you don’t care to hide.

“I want you in me now,” you murmur and Steve nearly chokes.

“You’re sure—”

“Yes.”

“Because we can—”

“Steve.” you smile, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Okay—yeah, yeah, that’d be…” he shuffles back a bit, reaching into the nightstand and grabbing a handful of condoms, letting the rest spill on the floor aside from one.

You laugh, covering your face. Steve, embarrassingly, doesn’t think he’s ever put a condom on so fast. He doesn’t even remember taking off his underwear.

“Will you be okay on top?” you ask, as Steve nestles between your legs, propped up on an arm. “I don’t want you to break something.” you tease.

Steve sighs, doesn’t bother responding to your ribbing. He leans down and kisses you instead, momentarily forgetting about everything but being here with you. Unhurried. You quiet too, smiling at him while he nudges his cock at your entrance, and you bring a hand down to help him slide in. Your lips parting momentarily at the feeling.

“Slower,” you say, and Steve looks at you, immediately watching for signs of distress. But there’s nothing but open affection. He pulls out, pushes in a little further, the same measured movements until he’s completely sheathed inside you. You sigh, smiling up at him.

The sudden silence makes him giggle.

“What?” you ask, face pink.

He shakes his head, “Nothing, it’s just…nice.”

“Being balls deep?”

“N-no!” he laughs, rolls his eyes, “Well, kind of. Just…” he doesn’t know how to say it. “It’s fun, with you.”

“Yeah.” You reach up and brush his hair from his face, hand trailing down to rest over his heart. Steve leans down, angling his hips and sliding out of you, before thrusting back in.

He kisses you, pulling almost all the way out again and leaving you breathless. He fills you again, hips snapping at a steady rhythm, leaning down just far enough to nose at your neck, mouth resting over your heart.

It’s ridiculous – you think – that you waited this long. But then again, you’re happy that it’s now. That you’re both so happy to have each other.

Steve’s pace stutters and you reach down between you, rubbing at your clit while he pulls nearly all the way out again. Then he squeezes his eyes shut and you can feel him twitching, feel him coming inside you with soft pants. He bows his head, kisses your chest. You clench around him and he groans, something much more unexpected, and _much_ louder. You’re still rubbing at your clit when he pulls out of you with a gasp, quickly taking your hands place with his own and encircling your clit.

“Steve—” you murmur while he kisses you and you come for the second time, around his fingers. He smiles against your mouth, in understanding. In contentment.

Once everything is said and done, you come out of the bathroom in a fresh set of clothes and brushed teeth. You turn off the bathroom light and slide into bed next to Steve, who looks positively boneless.

He turns to you, eyes drooping nearly shut in exhaustion. He leans in enough to hold you close, kissing your forehead.

“I think you’re going to feel it in the morning.” you murmur and Steve can do little but snort in amusement.

Steve whispers in the dark, “If it’s with you? Worth it.”

You close your eyes, and then Steve nudges a bit closer, palm drifting over to rest over your heart. "I'm glad you stayed."

It’s sore muscles, it’s bruises, it’s everything unsaid. You touch his hand, kiss the corner of his mouth, soft and loving. You both drift to sleep - ready for whatever tomorrow brings.


End file.
